


Empty Spaces

by simplemelodies



Series: A Bad Love Like This [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Bad Love Like This, I'm Sorry, I've changed the title for this series like twice, M/M, Teenlock, but I'm not, i don't know how to tag but yeah, progressive teenlock i guess, you should probably read the others firsts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:55:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplemelodies/pseuds/simplemelodies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When we’re young, we’re told that boys play with boys and girls play with girls, and we’re told that when we’re older, girls won’t have cooties and boys won’t be icky. We’re told that we’ll find someone to share our juicebox with at the lunch table and maybe even drink a single strawberry milkshake with two straws. When we’re young we’re taught that we’ll settle down one day and be happy and healthy and maybe have 2.5 children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third in a series of (out-of-order) stories involving the summers between John Watson's and Sherlock Holmes's years seven through twelve. Please forgive any mistakes, for I am not from the UK and therefore I am absolutely horrid at the customs. Thank you to Lucy (pawtal on tumblr, and Pawtal on AO3) for bearing with me and teaching as much as she can, and for inspiring this little project. You're forever a little shit, but who cares. Also, for Tirzah (gingercult on tumblr and shippingjohnlock on AO3) for the constant encouragement. I couldn't ask for a better best friend.   
> I really do wish you enjoy this little piece.   
> C.J.

Summer 2012

When we’re young, we’re told that boys play with boys and girls play with girls, and we’re told that when we’re older, girls won’t have cooties and boys won’t be icky. We’re told that we’ll find someone to share our juicebox with at the lunch table and maybe even drink a single strawberry milkshake with two straws. When we’re young we’re taught that we’ll settle down one day and be happy and healthy and maybe have 2.5 children.

We’re not told that people die, and that maybe girls won’t stop having cooties, and some boys will stay icky. We’re not told that being too close to other boys is a bad thing when we grow older. We’re not told that bullying exists and that if you kiss a boy then you’ll be the one to get hit.

We’re not told of the harshness of the world.

“I don’t want to get married.”

Sherlock blinked, quirked an eyebrow. “Well I could only hope so, John. You’re just seventeen.”

“Not what I meant, idiot.” And John smirked at the insult because usually Sherlock would be the one to utter that word. “I mean…” The struggle for words wasn’t what was keeping them at bay really, because he knew what he was going to say, just not necessarily if it was the right time. “I mean,” he continued, “I don’t want to get married—not when I’m twenty-five and so in love my gut hurts, or fifty, when I need to just settle down with someone, or…” John looked away from Sherlock’s profile beneath the stars, “when I’m seventeen and can’t keep my dick in my pants.”

And the younger of the two barked out a laugh, because it was just like John to say something like that, on a whim, with no pretense at all. “John, I do so hope you’d ‘keep your dick in your pants’, as you so eloquently put it.”

But secretly, Sherlock would not mind, not after the hellish two weeks that they’d been at the lake, by the docks, sharing a room.

Because they were sharing a room, goddammit—again. And it didn’t dawn on Mummy at all that they were both teenagers with privacy who would like nothing better than to throttle each other, so why not put them in a room together? Of course, throttling wasn’t at all what Sherlock thought of anymore. In fact, it was all he could do not to roll over and wrap his lanky arms around John at this very moment—because laying under the stars was really relaxing and maybe just a tad romantic.

But of course, romance wasn’t really John’s thing. And Sherlock knew at some level that this was just a way to pass the hours of the early night before they were called in to sleep. There was certainly no tension, no obvious longing sitting between the two like a coiled snake.

Sometimes Sherlock wanted to strangle John.

Instead, he lifted up is hand and ran it through his dark curls, still a bit damp from that day’s late evening swim. His thoughts were running away with him again, and he needed to keep them in check if he was going to be keeping his cool here any longer.

Because however much Sherlock liked to project his “holier than thou, emotionally distant” image, he was still a teenager with a fully-functional (and sometimes over-active) libido. And the tension that had lain stretched to a wire since the day they both caught sight of each other at the beginning of the summer didn’t help one bit. Sherlock Holmes was a dead man if he could not control himself.

Which he could.

Sometimes.

If the mood were right, and he could focus, and if John wasn’t taking slow breaths and if John wasn’t babbling about some stupid Chemistry final and if John wasn’t, well, _John_.

Sherlock let out a breath and his hand slipped from his hair back to the sandy grass between the two teenagers—and landed on top of John’s.

The dark-haired boy lay still for a moment, not wanting to break contact, but knowing that at any moment, John would snatch his hand away and move to get up.

But John never moved, and when he did, it was only to thread his fingers through the other boy’s, linking their hands in a loose hold.

And that’s the way they stayed, silent and connected with a calm assurance that both would be okay, that they were not crazy for noticing the buzzing in the air every time the other entered the room. John and Sherlock relished in the moments of peace, of a calm sense of togetherness, because even if this was platonic, it was so much more than that. It was the connection of two souls.

Because it was a well-known fact that Sherlock Holmes did not “do” physical contact at all. And it was a well-known fact that John Watson was not one to casually hold a bloke’s hand. So, yes, this was a big deal. But it was a big deal kept in secret on the back lawn of a lake house just outside of a tiny town just outside of a bigger city in a small country on a great big planet.

When we’re young we’re told we’ll grow up to be happy, to have someone to spend the rest of time with.

It does not matter how we get there.


End file.
